


in which delahoy learns the proper handling of discarded flowers

by garfunkelandgoats



Series: Banks and Delahoy Get Married [1]
Category: The Unusuals
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, takes place roughly during 1x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 15:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11900637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garfunkelandgoats/pseuds/garfunkelandgoats
Summary: “Eric,” coos Karen--no, not Karen, she’s far from here with a husband who loves her and a family of her own, this is only his sick mind’s approximation of the girl he remembered--as she circles around the table. He doesn’t look at her. “Do you remember the summer we found that body in the lake?”





	in which delahoy learns the proper handling of discarded flowers

Delahoy sits at his kitchen table, nursing a stiff drink as he stares blankly at the slightly crumpled bouquet of flowers lying before him. It’s late at night and the air is still, in direct contrast with the sounds of the city nightlife drifting through the window where it’s open a crack. The city never sleeps, as they say. He was never much one for romanticising New York, not after living there long enough for it to have lost most of the glamour--although, then again, most things in his life have disappointed like that. 

 

Somewhere outside a car alarm goes off, its shrill blaring cutting through the relative peace of the humming background noise outside like a cleaver through meat. He sighs heavily and sips at his drink before setting it aside and rubbing futilely at his temples.

 

He feels a light hand at his shoulder, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as it gracefully traces the length of his tensed arm.

 

“Eric,” coos Karen--no, not Karen, she’s far from here with a husband who loves her and a family of her own, this is only his sick mind’s approximation of the girl he remembered--as she circles around the table. He doesn’t look at her. “Do you remember the summer we found that body in the lake?”

 

He lets out a low groan, a sharp pain bursting behind his eyes as he squeezes them shut. “You weren’t there for that. That was before we met.”

 

She shrugs, leaning against the wooden table and pouting at him. Delahoy feels bile rise in his throat. “Was it?”

 

“I don’t--”

 

“You were canoeing. With your brother.”

 

He sighs, kneading the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I never liked canoeing.”

 

“Too many bugs.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, you tell it, Eric. It’s  _ your _ story, after all.” She smiles sweetly at him as he slowly raises his head from his hands.

 

“There was this, uh...this fake waterfall thing. Man-made. Real steep, with a, uh...a little wooden bridge on top.”

 

“And?”

 

“And he was floating in the water underneath it.”

 

Karen nods slowly, as if she were humoring a child, and takes the bouquet from the center of the table, contemplating its dulling petals. “What did he look like?”

 

Delahoy exhales sharply. “Why are you asking me this?”

 

“I’m not,” she smiles, plucking a petal and letting it drift to the floor.

 

“Right,” he replies, cautious, rubbing at his closed eyelids. “Sure, yeah, that’s right.”

 

“Well?”

 

“What does  _ any _ dead guy look like? Dead. Gross. All blue and….veiny. Fuck, I don’t know.”

 

His mouth tastes like soot. Delahoy runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth, mealy and gross as if he hadn’t brushed them that very morning, and again before he went to go see Monica. Karen looks at him with something disgustingly close to pity, all the worse knowing she’s a figment of his goddamned imagination.

 

“I read about the guy in the paper after.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He jumped,” Delahoy croaks, his eyes burning with shame. He hadn’t thought about this in years but in his mind’s eye he can see the old man smiling from the black and white photo they used in his obituary. Is that even what he looked like? He’s not sure anymore. Maybe it’s the man who jumped, maybe it’s that poor old bastard with the fucking brain tumor who died on the swingset in the empty lot that used to be his home.

 

“Why?"

 

“I don’t know. Maybe his wife left him. Maybe he got sick.”

 

“Funny how things work out,” Karen frowns at him, plucking another petal.

 

“Yeah,” he laughs bitterly. “Real fuckin’ funny.”

 

Karen crosses her legs and smiles at him. 

 

“Hey now,” she says, utterly blank.

 

Delahoy gets to his feet, unconsciously bracing a hand against his chair to steady himself as he makes his way to the fridge, determined to find something to eat that doesn’t taste like fucking salami. What he finds is a rotting head of lettuce, its leaves distorted in his eyes to resemble the dead man’s bloated face. Barely resisting the urge to vomit, he slams the refrigerator door shut and practically scrambles away, knocking into the table as he coughs furiously into his fist.

 

“Fuck,” he says. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

 

“You should get a vase for these,” says Karen.  


 

Somewhere outside, the car alarm goes abruptly silent. 

 

When he turns around, she is gone and the bouquet lies undisturbed atop the wooden table. Delahoy grabs the flowers and throws them in the trash, staring down at them a long moment before taking them back out again, smoothing the petals out best he can before he goes to look for something to hold them until he can buy a vase.


End file.
